


Warp and Weft

by firjii



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Ugly clothes, alistair humor, diplomatic relations between the inquisition and ferelden, king alistair (implied), wintersend gifts (implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 06:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12977829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firjii/pseuds/firjii
Summary: Bae Lavellan wasted no time in sharing her opinions with Alistair during her initial stay in Redcliffe. Still amused by her boldness months later, Alistair sends her a gentle reminder that sometimes, words CAN be as powerful as actions.





	Warp and Weft

Bae’s breath came in quick, quiet bursts as she sprinted from the tavern. Her long strides made her move in a blur, the scouts and soldiers scattered all around barely noticing her as she hurried along. Her feet darted up Skyhold’s winding main steps, scaling them two and then three at a time. She scarcely avoided a pair of burly scouts who were carrying a precariously-arranged pyramid of rubble heaped far above the massive crate’s total capacity.

She nudged a visiting noble’s wife rather too forcefully out of the way when she reached the inner door of the atrium and then jogged the remainder of the distance to Josephine’s office. By the time she rushed through the creaking door, she was panting in earnest. She clutched at her torso as Josephine and Leliana stood on either side of a formidable-looking chest on the desk.

Bae pointed shakily. “Is that–”

“As promised,” Leliana lilted.

“There is also a letter,” Josephine added. “A rather – _unusual_ one, I thought.”

Bae’s eyes rolled marginally “Of course there is.”

Josephine hurried to grab the letter – a scroll, not a subtle square of parchment. She hesitated. “Shall I –”

Bae nodded, still too breathless to keep her hands from shaking long enough to hold the scroll but also wary of the cryptic, ostentatious lettering so rampant in formal correspondences.

Josephine cleared her throat, a crisp but subtle little noise. “‘My warmest greetings to you, Inquisitor. I hope that this shipment survives the rather rugged journey. Had it been my decision, I would have gladly offered you accommodation much nearer to your allies – since we are, indeed, to be just that. But Orlais is another matter for another letter, after all, and cannot be summed up in mere words.’”

Bae snorted. “That’s _one_ way to put it.”

Josephine barely skipped a beat as she nodded marginally in agreement. “‘With the ongoing exodus of mages in Ferelden, our last meeting was cut entirely too short, but your thoughts on Fereldan tradition and culture nonetheless piqued my imagination.’”

Josephine’s eyes leapt up from the page before skittering back down to it.

Bae’s face slackened. “Go on.”

“‘Though colorful, your opinions possessed a rare display of curtness, a quality too long lapsed among most nobles here. I should perhaps attribute it to your race – even for an elf, you showed admirably unflinching candor and poise each time I posed you a question – but I feel that such a general statement would undermine your natural intelligence, which I am glad to see is in such abundance. If we are to have an Inquisition and squirm under the thumb of the terrifying unknown, I would at least see someone like you leading it. Perhaps fate has been kinder to us than we realized. I have grave doubts that a Fereldan could have done half as well as you have thus far.’”

Bae raised her brow high. “Did you hear that, spymaster? He complimented a mage and an elf in the same breath.”

Half a beat of unfathomable silence settled on the room before Josephine wordlessly hedged and continued. “‘For your efforts to draw the mage rebellion to a close sooner, your forces were at least owed a few decent meals. The relevant supplies have been directed to your kitchens – including a selection of the cheeses you grew so fond of so quickly in your short time in Redcliffe. However, I also enclose the following tokens of appreciation for your singularly unique outsider’s perspective on established Fereldan traditions. I trust you will find that they are an appropriate fit to your disposition and tendencies.’”

Josephine’s voice, as agreeable and pleasant as ever, had faltered a little more with each successive word until it had finally become a shy mew on the last few phrases.

Bae stared at the chest and scowled silently. “He didn’t.”

Leliana suddenly smiled and suppressed a chuckle. “It’s only his way, Inquisitor.”

“I don’t care. I’ll deck him the next time I’m there.”

“It may not be as bad as you assume,” Josephine diffused. “Alistair is famous for his generosity towards friends and allies.” She moved to open the chest, but her shoulders slumped as she dipped her head down to look inside it.

Bae frowned. “What is it?”

Leliana moved closer to look. The mildest of snorts escaped her, though she managed to keep a sober, neutral expression on her face.

“What? Show me.” Bae pushed Josephine aside and dug a hand into the chest. At first, her fingers only found empty air, but then they met with the telltale scratchy fibers of humble old wool. She almost recoiled away, but she forced her hand to pull out the contents: a scarf and hat. They both bore the same vibrant red and strangely brilliant white. The hat was accented by a frilly, stiff tassel. The scarf was pinstriped.

Josephine giggled in her petite, musical, strangely childlike tones. Leliana managed to keep her face sensible for half a moment before she issued a louder, deeper snort.

Bae held each of the articles by two fingers on each hand, her arms not exactly splayed but her elbows distinctly jutting away from her. “No.”

Josephine muffled herself and wiped a tear. “Few textiles are warmer than Ferelden’s.”

“No,” she uttered flatly.

“You were complaining just the other day about the night drafts in your quarters–”

“No.”

Leliana slowly raised an appeasing hand of peace. “You should know that Alistair enjoys tangents and long-running jokes. At least try them on for fit so that you can inform his weavers of any mistakes to avoid in the future.”

Bae stared hard at the hat and then the scarf. “You mean – I’m to get one of these every year now?”

A short but loud chortle escaped Josephine before she could hastily cover her mouth.

Leliana smirked but staved off laughter as she nodded crookedly. “It is very possible.”

Bae swiped the scarf around her neck once and placed the hat as lightly as possible on her head.

The advisors cackled openly.

Bae’s eyes rolled after a long moment of their indulgence. “Fereldans,” she muttered.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a recent art challenge.


End file.
